close your eyes (you've been here before)
by Taywen
Summary: You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand. You're home. / Timeloop AU.


Disclaimer: Dishonored does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Arkane Studios, etc.

Fills the 'time travel' square on my trope bingo card.

**Warnings**: repeated character death, suicide, some violence (not super graphic I don't think).

* * *

close your eyes (you've been here before)

* * *

You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand.

You don't notice the latter at first. You're groggy from a half-remembered dream (nightmare), the stress of months (a year and more) weighing on you.

The shouts of the sailors are faintly audible; a rat squeaks in the corner of your cabin, snuffling about for crumbs. There's a bit of light coming through the tiny round window of your cabin. If you look out, you can see the outskirts of Dunwall.

You're home.

You climb out of the cramped bunk and splash some water on your face at the small sink. There are dark bags under your eyes when you examine your reflection in the small mirror, but that is the only outward sign of your stress. You raise your hand to push your unruly bangs out of your eyes and-

Several seconds pass as you stare at the mark on your hand, faintly raised from the skin, the black lines a sharp contrast to your skin.

Geoff Curnow knocks on your door. He's here to tell you that you've arrived, and there is a motorboat waiting to take you to Dunwall Tower.

"Come in," you say automatically, transfixed by this indelible mark.

"Morning, Corvo-" He stops just inside the threshold, his half-faked smile fading as he sees the brand.

"It's not what it looks like," you blurt out, curling the fingers of your right hand over the back of the left.

"That wasn't there yesterday," Curnow says, but he's watching you with wary eyes. Gone is the easy trust of past months.

"I don't know where it came from," you say. "I woke up and it was like this."

Curnow rubs a hand over the lower half of his face, considers what he knows of you. "You should wear gloves," he says. He looks you in the eye, does you the courtesy of not staring at your trembling hands.

"Gloves," you repeat. "Right."

"We'll be disembarking soon," Curnow says after a few moments of silence. "That's what I came to tell you."

"Right," you say again. "I'll be out in a minute."

Curnow nods and steps out, closing the door behind himself.

You'd packed everything into your travel trunk in preparation for your return to Dunwall the night before, but you waste no time in tearing the carefully folded clothes and miscellaneous documents apart in the search for something to cover the mark on the back of your hand. You find a pair of thin white gloves, for formal occasions. They will look strange but you put them on anyway. The white obscures the mark if you leave your fingers loose so the fabric does not pull too tightly and allow the black to bleed through.

It will have to do. You stuff your possessions back into the trunk and leave the cabin for the last time.

Curnow is largely silent as the small boat takes the pair of you to Dunwall Tower. His thoughts linger on his family - a niece, Callista, is all that remains of a relatively large extended family. He puts your mark out of his mind; he does not want to know.

Your mind vacillates between anticipation of your reunion with Jessamine and Emily, the bad news that sit heavily over your heart in the form of politely-worded letters, and the mark on the back of your hand.

You forget your troubles for a moment when Emily comes to meet you just outside the waterlock. She is heavier than you remember, her face incandescent with happiness. You hold her small frame to your chest, your left hand over her left shoulder blade. You think you can feel her heartbeat through your fingers, but dismiss it as your imagination.

"Will you _please_ play hide and seek with me, Corvo?" Emily begs.

"Of course," you say, letting her down. "Lead the way."

Emily grins at you and runs off to the ground level. You follow, as you always will (until you can't anymore).

There are few places to hide down here, but you crouch gamely behind the lone tree as Emily counts to ten. You brace your hands against the curve of the trunk to lean out, and the sight of the black lines - unrecognizable through the white fabric unless an observer knows what they represent - draws you up short.

"You win!" Emily calls, a mixture of amused and disappointed. "Come out, Corvo!"

Her voice galvanizes you into action. You stand, deliberately relaxing your left hand. "I'll be it next time," you say. "Why don't we play again after I see your mother?"

"That sounds wonderful," Emily says. "She's in the gazebo with the _Royal Spymaster_." Her nose wrinkles in distaste; there is no love lost between the two of them.

You pause on the lawn to greet Sokolov and Campbell, though you do not linger. You've heard rumours of Sokolov's obsession with the Outsider, and flaunting that sort of mark around the High Overseer is just asking for it.

"Corvo! Back a day early, I see. You're always full of surprises," Burrows says with a sickly-fake smile as you pass each other on the way to Jessamine.

The grimace you give in return feels equally genuine. You do not particularly like the man, though you will concede that he is necessary to Jessamine's rule.

Your smile is entirely sincere when you return to Jessamine's side. It is dimmed somewhat by the bad news you bring, but even that is nothing compared to the contentment of being near her again. You wait patiently as she reads the letter; you've gone months without seeing her, a few more minutes before a proper reunion are nothing.

"Where are the guards?" Jessamine suddenly asks, looking around the courtyard. The area is completely deserted.

Stupid. You've gone months with no one to watch over but yourself, and it's made you sloppy. When did they leave-

"Look at those men on the rooftop!"

You tense at Emily's words, drawing your sword and pistol. Stepping in front of them is automatic; as Daud's assassins (for who else would charge the Empress with blades drawn) disappear and reappear before you, you remain calm.

Your pistol takes the first whaler in the chest; their body disappears in the same flickers of darkness that heralded their approach. The second engages you up close, your blades clashing loudly. They are skilled, but you are the Royal Protector and they fall before your sword.

"Corvo! There's another one!" Jessamine cries.

You spin around, wincing as their blade slices through your coat. It's far from the worst injury you've ever taken, and you shrug the pain off immediately. They last a few seconds longer than the previous assassin, but you defeat them as well.

"Are you all right?" you demand, turning to face your charges. Neither Jessamine nor Emily appears to be harmed, and you allow yourself to relax marginally. "I'll call the gua-"

A strange energy surrounds you, holding you captive as more assassins suddenly appear. You watch, helpless, as Daud stabs Jessamine and the others steal Emily away.

"Corvo... You have to find Emily," Jessamine gasps as you press at the wound in a futile attempt to staunch the blood. It soaks through the pristine fabric of your gloves, but you don't even notice. "You're the only one who can fix this..."

You barely notice when the guards pull you to your feet and Burrows accuses you of murder, your mind consumed with Jessamine's death and Emily's abduction.

The blow to knock you out, when it finally comes, is a mercy.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand.

You don't notice the latter at first. You're groggy from a dream (nightmare), the stress of months (a year and more) weighing on you.

The shouts of the sailors are faintly audible; a rat squeaks in the corner of your cabin, snuffling about for crumbs. There's a bit of light coming through the tiny round window of your cabin. If you look out, you can see the outskirts of Dunwall.

You're home.

You scramble to your feet, knocking your head against the low ceiling above your bunk. You swear, loudly, rubbing gingerly at your head. The nightmare was so vivid, you can still feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

You notice the mark on your hand when you turn to study yourself in the mirror.

"No," you say.

You've just found the white gloves when Curnow knocks on your door.

"Come in," you say, tugging the gloves on fully.

"Morning, Corvo," Curnow says with a smile that is only half fake. "We've reached Dunwall at last. I bet you're glad to be home; I know I am."

"Of course," you say. "We'll be disembarking soon?"

"Indeed. They're ready whenever you are."

"I'll be right out."

Curnow nods and lets himself out.

You clench your left hand into a fist, studying the stark lines of the mark through the thin white fabric. You've heard, or perhaps read, that the Outsider marks people; you do not know why you have been _chosen_ in this manner.

You put the thought from your mind. Jessamine is waiting. You cannot tarry.

* * *

Curnow makes small talk about Callista as you approach the waterlock. You listen with half an ear, turning over the nightmare in your mind. Was it a vision from the Outsider? A warning? But why?

You would dismiss these theories as preposterous were it not for the mark on your hand.

"You will come with me when I go to see the Empress," you tell Curnow abruptly when the boat enters the building.

Curnow blinks, but he doesn't look overly upset at being interrupted. You weren't making much pretense of listening, anyway. "Of course," he says, his tone faintly questioning.

You nod curtly as the water level begins to rise. "Thank you." If you are wrong (and you hope you are), you can apologize for your rudeness after. "Be on your guard," you add.

Curnow's beginning to look concerned, but you disregard it.

Emily comes to greet you just as she did in the dream (nightmare). You pick her up, but the solid weight of her does little to dispel your unease.

"It's Captain Curnow, isn't it?" she asks, peering up at the guard when you put her down.

"That's right, Your Highness," he says gravely.

"I suppose we should go see Mother," Emily says. Her small hand is engulfed in yours, but she grips it tightly all the same as she leads the pair of you to the gazebo. You exchange cursory greetings with Sokolov and Campbell, but they are secondary concerns to you now.

"Corvo! Back a day early, I see. You're always full of surprises," Burrows says with a sickly-fake smile as you pass each other on the way to Jessamine. "I think we should leave them alone, Captain-"

"-he's staying. He has something to report to the Empress," you cut in.

Curnow's eyebrows tick up slightly but he doesn't contradict you. Burrows' reaction is more telling; he seems to pale, his eyes flicking between you and the captain. He licks his lips.

"Very well, if it's a matter of importance. I merely thought you might prefer some privacy."

"I appreciate the thought," you say.

Burrows ushers the remaining guard away before you can think of a suitable reason to ask him to stay, which only raises your suspicions concerning the Spymaster. You'll deal with him later.

"Why don't we go inside?" you say, when Jessamine asks for your news.

"It's such a nice day," Emily says. "Perfect for hide and seek..."

"We can play later," you tell her, which makes her brighten. You return to scanning the rooftop of the waterlock.

"I've been cooped up all day," Jessamine says.

You hand over the letter without protest after that; the sooner you can convince her to leave this area, the better.

"What are you looking at, Corvo?" Emily asks, standing on the tips of her toes in an attempt to see what you're seeing. The first assassin appears on the far edge of the roof as she does so. "Oh! Look at those men on the rooftop!"

Curnow swears and draws his pistol. "Guards!" he shouts, firing a shot at the leading whaler. You take down two of them before they make it to the gazebo, but there are more this time and three appear all together.

"Where the hell are the guards!?" Curnow grunts, crossing blades with the nearest one. You're occupied with the other two, your sword clashing against one of the assassin's. You take a step back, shoot them in the chest with your pistol. The body disappears but before you can turn your attention to the other assassin, Emily screams.

Curnow looks apologetic, of all things, when you meet his eyes. The other assassins ganged up on him, and as you watch a blade pulls free of his back with a slick, familiar sound. Curnow's body collapses into ash a moment later.

The other two assassins fall before your pistol and blade, and you're left alone with Emily and Jessamine. Neither of them appears to be hurt, but you do not give them more than a cursory glance; you return your attention to the rooftop, where more of the assassins are approaching.

Where _are_ the guards? It should have been long enough for _someone_ to arrive by now. You and Curnow must have fired off a dozen shots between the two of you.

"Corvo!"

You're helpless again, thrashing uselessly against the supernatural hold of one of the assassins as Daud murders Jessamine before Emily's eyes. Emily is stolen away and you slump to the ground, defeated.

"Corvo... You have to find Emily," Jessamine gasps as you press uselessly at the wound in a futile attempt to staunch the blood. It soaks through the pristine fabric of your gloves, but you don't even notice. "You're the only one who can fix this..."

The guards arrive then, with Burrows and Campbell.

"Where did they go!?" one of them cries. "I saw 'em- wearing whaler masks-"

"Over the rooftop," you say, gesturing.

"That mark," Campbell says. "Those assassins had the same one."

Everyone looks at your left hand; at the black plainly visible beneath blood-soaked fabric.

"I didn't- it was _you_," you protest. "You're the ones who drew the guards away!"

"You told me Captain Curnow would be sufficient protection," Burrows says smoothly, dispelling any doubts you might have held. "Where _is_ the captain?"

"The assassins killed him! His body disappeared, just like theirs-"

"-the Empress' body is still here!"

"Take him," Burrows orders, and something slams into the back of your head.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand.

The shouts of the sailors are faintly audible; a rat squeaks in the corner of your cabin, snuffling about for crumbs. There's a bit of light coming through the tiny round window of your cabin. If you look out, you can see the outskirts of Dunwall.

You're home.

You lie in the bunk for several moments, fury coursing through you. Then you rise and rifle through your trunk, searching for a better pair of gloves. You find a crumpled pair of black leather at the very bottom just as Curnow knocks at your door.

You pull the gloves on and adjust them carefully before bidding Curnow to enter.

"I want you to bring a squad of guards when we go see the Empress," you say as soon as Curnow opens the door.

Curnow blinks, his smile fading. "Is something wrong, Corvo?"

"I have reason to suspect an assassination attempt will occur. Do not alert the guards, but tell them to remain vigilant," you say.

Curnow nods. "Of course. How did you-" He shakes his head, his eyes flicking to the mess of clothes strewn across the floor, then to your gloves. You've only worn gloves when visiting the nobility in the Isles; but he doesn't comment. "No harm will come to the Empress, I'll make sure of it."

"Good. We should leave as soon as possible."

"That's what I came to tell you: we can disembark now," Curnow says.

You catch his arm in the hall just beyond your cabin. "What do you know of the Outsider?"

Curnow's brow lowers, confusion and wariness mingling. "Only what the Abbey teaches," he says.

You exhale, release him. "Right." All you can think of, besides the Abbey propaganda, are a few reports you've read at Jessamine's side. Witches can use magic; there had been rumours that those who bore the Outsider's mark could perform great feats. Disappearing and reappearing in a different space, holding a man captive from a distance; those powers must come from the Outsider.

You look down at your left hand as you emerge onto the deck of the ship. You know, even if no one else does, that this mark was unlooked for and unwanted; but if it can grant you the same abilities that Jessamine's assassins wield, you will gladly use it.

* * *

While you greet Emily and hug her to you, Curnow enlists the nearby guards. Campbell watches you as you make your way to the gazebo; you know this because Sokolov snaps at him to keep still.

"What is the meaning of this?" Burrows demands, his sickly-fake smile dying before it makes an appearance. He does not comment on your early arrival; the surprise is rather obvious.

"I have reason to believe there will be an assassination attempt," you tell him. "You haven't heard anything about that, have you, Spymaster?"

"I certainly have not!" Burrows says after a moment of stunned silence, his skin as pale as a corpse's; or perhaps a plague victim's.

You make a disinterested noise. "I have to see the Empress now." You lead the guards past him without another word.

"Corvo?" Jessamine does not look pleased to see you this time; she is plainly worried when she sees the guards behind you. "Is something wrong?"

"Your life is in danger," you say. "Please, let's go inside. I have-"

A guard shouts, and when you turn his body is collapsing into ash; the bolt that pierced his eye clatters to the ground. Another guard goes down.

"Protect the Empress!" Curnow shouts, the guards forming a line between you, Jessamine and Emily, and the assassins approaching across the rooftop.

You try to lead Emily and Jessamine away, but, impossibly, more assassins cut off your retreat. From the shouting and firing of pistols behind you, the guards remain occupied with other whalers.

Their fighting style is becoming familiar to you; you dispatch the assassins with something like ease.

"Emily!" Jessamine screams. A stray bolt has slipped past the dwindling guards.

"Mother-" she coughs wetly, her small hands trembling over the red spooling out from her wound.

"No!" you shout, shoving the last assassin from your blade and running to her side. "No, no, no-"

Her hands drops to the ground with finality. The blood staining Emily's white clothes is obscene; it's worse than watching Jessamine die, worse than-

"Corvo, watch out-"

The blossom of pain as one of the assassin's blades pierces your back is almost welcome. You slump to the ground, your thoughts flying between disbelief (Emily is _dead_) and panic (what if this is the end, you'd never _died_ the other times) and relief (you can try again, maybe, hopefully).

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand.

The shouts of the sailors are faintly audible; a rat squeaks in the corner of your cabin, snuffling about for crumbs. There's a bit of light coming through the tiny round window of your cabin. If you look out, you can see the outskirts of Dunwall.

You're home.

You roll to the edge of the bunk and empty your stomach all over the floor. You can still feel the phantom pain where the assassin stabbed you.

"Fuck," you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stare hard at the black mark. You didn't get the chance to see if you could use any of the powers the assassins had. You don't even know where to start.

You clench your hand into a fist, imagine yourself appearing on the other side of the tiny cabin. The mark burns, pain and light, as something foreign yet familiar rises within you.

You blink over to the opposite wall, your head slamming against it. You stagger back, swearing loudly.

"Everything all right in there, Corvo?" Curnow's concerned voice comes through the door.

"Fine!" you snarl.

The silence is dubious.

"I'll- I'll be out in a moment. We must be near to disembarking," you add, in a tone closer to your usual.

"That's right. I'll see you in a bit." The metallic clanging of Curnow's footsteps quickly fades.

You dig the black gloves out of your trunk, jerking them on savagely enough that the seams of one give way. It would be the left, of course.

"Fuck!" You stand there trembling, furious, then with deliberate care pull your sleeve down so the loose seam is concealed. You imagine blinking to the other side of the room; the mark is faintly visible even through the dark fabric.

It will have to do.

You do not bother with the guards this time. Curnow goes on about his niece, but you tune him out.

You exit the waterlock, but on the opposite end. There is a guard stationed there; he gives you a cursory glance before looking back out over the water. You imagine he will be overwhelmed when the assassins arrive. Certainly, he has never raised the alarm.

After a moment's hesitation, you knock him out and stow him in the guardhouse.

You bounce off the wall a few feet below the roofline when you try to blink up directly; your leg jars as you land back on the ground.

"Fuck," you mutter, a steady, furious mantra. You need to get up there before the assassins arrive. Their abilities cannot be any more powerful than yours, so why can't you get up here? (You deliberately avoid considering that power comes with experience.) Your gaze falls upon a flagpole partway up the wall. You climb onto the parapet, then blink up to it, then to the edge of the roof proper.

You crouch behind the parapet on the edge of the roof, your sword clutched in one hand and your pistol in the other. There is very little time between your return and the assassination attempt; they will surely be arriving soon.

"Corvo! Are you out here?" Emily's voice rises from below and panic seizes in your chest. "I could've sworn Captain Curnow said you were here..." She yelps, then falls silent.

You scramble to your feet, shoot two of the assassins before they realize what's happening-

Then you're surrounded.

The last thing you see before your vision fades is Jessamine's murderer blinking away across the rooftop.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand.

The shouts of the sailors are faintly audible; a rat squeaks in the corner of your cabin, snuffling about for crumbs. There's a bit of light coming through the tiny round window of your cabin. If you look out, you can see the outskirts of Dunwall.

You're home.

You would gladly give your life for Jessamine and Emily, but sacrificing yourself won't accomplish anything.

You try again, because there is nothing else for you to do, because there is nothing else you can consider doing. You alert Curnow again, have him enlist as many guards as possible. The guards are little more than human shields when faced with the whalers, but you do not feel any particular remorse for using them as such.

The result is more or less the same, in any case. You are injured in the confusion and Jessamine dies. Burrows does not attempt to frame you - some of the other guards survive too, and can corroborate your story - but he does pack you off with Sokolov, who drugs you into insensibility.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand.

The shouts of the sailors are faintly audible; a rat squeaks in the corner of your cabin, snuffling about for crumbs. There's a bit of light coming through the tiny round window of your cabin. If you look out, you can see the outskirts of Dunwall.

You're home.

You raise your hand and stare at the mark. The assassins had other powers beside blink; do you have them too? You suspect that Daud can summon his men; how else would their numbers vary from iteration to iteration?

You imagine summoning a guard, but it seems too absurd. The assassins are marked; common guards are not. And a guard is no match for the assassins.

The rat squeaks again and you turn your head to look at it. There is a hole in the vent cover, which must be how it got into your cabin.

_Rats_, you think.

You imagine a horde of rats, their bodies boiling up out of the floor; the mark burns in response.

The squeaking and squealing is grating, but you barely notice. You can only stare at the squirming, writhing mass of rodents as the mark fades to black.

"Corvo? Everything all right?" Curnow calls through the door.

"Fine," you say. "Everything's fine. I'll be out in a moment."

The rats sniff at you but make no move to attack. They make room for you effortlessly as you cross to your trunk and find your gloves.

"Stay," you say, feeling a bit ridiculous, and open the door.

The horde pours out, disappearing down the hall. You wince and shout, "Rats!" before heading for the deck.

"Stupid rats," a sailor says when you emerge into the sunlight. "Crawling all over everything..."

You grimace and nod as you pass him. Curnow is waiting by the boat; you go to join him.

* * *

Everything goes as it had in the first iteration until you summon the rats. You make sure to keep your hand hidden, so no one can see the damning glow of the mark.

They jump on the first assassin, who shouts and starts attempting to beat them off. The second is distracted and you shoot them; you're just waiting for the third to appear. When they do, you shoot them as well.

"Where did those rats come from?" Jessamine demands. She's holding Emily against her, so she can't see the assassin's body being devoured. It's hardly a suitable sight for a ten year old.

"I'll explain later," you say. "We need to-"

The world bleeds grey, the chittering of the rats cutting off as Jessamine and Emily freeze in place.

You duck instinctively, bringing your blade up. The blow jars you; Daud is strong, and the blow was meant to behead you.

He is surprised to find himself crossing blades with you. "Who are you?"

"Stay away from her," you snarl, shoving him back and swinging your sword to attack.

"Not just a bodyguard..." Daud mutters, dodging. "You bear the mark. That is unexpected."

He kicks you in the stomach, winding you and making you stagger back just as time resumes. One of the whalers hold you in place for a moment, but your rats attack him and his hold falters. You throw yourself between Daud and Jessamine.

"Too bad," Daud says as he runs you through as he's run Jessamine through in nearly every other iteration. Your vision fades on Jessamine suffering the same fate.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand.

The shouts of the sailors are faintly audible; a rat squeaks in the corner of your cabin, snuffling about for crumbs. There's a bit of light coming through the tiny round window of your cabin. If you look out, you can see the outskirts of Dunwall.

You're home.

You dig out your gloves and exit your room as Curnow comes down the hall towards you.

"Corvo, you're up-"

"I'm ready, let's go."

Curnow blinks, then nods. "Heard the sailors talking, huh?"

"Yes."

Though you don't mention it, it is obvious from your demeanour that you are on edge. Curnow considers asking you what is wrong, then puts it from his mind; he thinks you will tell him if it is something important.

"Drive as fast as you can," you order the guard as soon as the boat hits the water; he looks at you, startled.

"Do it," Curnow says, and he does.

"I'm going ahead," you say, and blink up to the top of the waterlock as soon as it's within reach. The guards twitch in surprise and mutter behind you but you ignore them. A blink later, and you're past them. You sweep Emily into your arms without slowing and blink up to the gazebo on the waterlock side.

"Corvo! What was that?" Emily sounds delighted.

You hush her. "We're playing hide and seek with Spymaster Burrows."

"He never wants to play," she whispers, peering through the bushes.

"You need to stay hidden no matter what," you tell her. "Can you do that, Emily?"

She nods, a determined expression on her face. "OK!"

"I'll be back for you," you say. "Stay here."

She nods again, though it is more uncertain this time. You give her a quick hug and blink around to approach the gazebo normally.

"Corvo! Back a day early, I see. You're always full of surprises," Burrows says with a sickly-fake smile as you pass each other on the way to Jessamine.

"Call them off," you say, grabbing him by the lapels. He is slender, used to life at a desk. His hands curl around your wrists, but you barely feel his grip. "I know about the assassination attempt and I'm telling you to _call it off_."

"Corvo, what's the matter?" Jessamine hurries over, frowning.

"He's hired assassins to kill you," you say, shaking the pale man.

"Don't be absurd!" Burrows gasps. "I would never-"

You shove him away, hard, and draw your blade. You press it to his neck before he can get back to his feet. "Call them off, or I'll kill you."

"Guards!" Burrows shouts.

"Don't come any closer or I'll kill him," you say, making eye contact with the lone guard at the far end of the courtyard.

It's not going to work, you realize with something resembling despair even before things fall apart. Jessamine trusts you, but the guards have seen you using blink and you're acting erratically at best. No one will believe you, not in time-

The guard gives a choked gurgle and collapses; his corpse disintegrates into ash before it hits the ground. A bolt, you assume.

"Jessamine, get behind me!"

You left Emily in the bushes. Stupid, short-sighted... What were you thinking? (You weren't.)

Your ears start ringing. You don't realize what's happened at first; pain blooms, belatedly. You stagger back from Burrows and his pistol, your knees giving out. Jessamine is shouting, Emily is screaming, and all you can see it Burrows aiming the gun at your head.

Then nothing.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up with a burning desire to put a blade through the Spymaster's back, or perhaps his throat. You're not terribly picky.

You don't even notice the shouts of the sailors; the rat's squeak barely registers.

You consider wasting an iteration doing just that, slaughtering your way through everyone even tangentially connected to the assassination, but balk at the thought of allowing Jessamine (or, worse, Emily) to die again. (You've lost count of how many times it's happened already.)

You wake up when you lose consciousness after Jessamine or Emily dies, or if you die yourself. Would time continue if they lived? Do they live after you die? Are you actually dead, and stuck in some purgatory doomed to spend eternity watching Jessamine or Emily die or get killed again yourself?

Several iterations pass as you master your powers again, until they come as naturally to you as the swing of your blade or the cocking of a pistol. Like Daud, you can bend time; but he is not affected by it, just as you are unaffected when he uses itpower. His whalers are vulnerable, but taking them out is often an exercise in frustration. Daud can simply summon more, and while you are more than a match for any of them, you are still only one man.

You could likely defeat Daud himself in a fair fight, but he is not inclined to give you one. Whether he ever will be is another question entirely.

So you change tack.

You figure out where Daud and his assassins come from (a ship that you've unwittingly passed many, many times) and confront him. Sneaking past the whalers involves a combination of luck, stopping time and hasty blinks, but you do find yourself in the captain's cabin in time.

The captain himself is absent, but Billie Lurk is there, along with Daud, poring over a map of the grounds of Dunwall Tower.

"Whatever Burrows is paying you," you say, your hands raised to show that you mean no harm, "I'll double it if you walk away."

They both tense and draw their swords, but neither of them attack you yet.

"Corvo Attano," Lurk says blankly.

Daud studies you, his initial expression of surprise soon hidden. "How did you get here?"

"We have the same benefactor," you say.

Daud narrows his eyes. "I have a reputation," he says.

"You sell your services to the highest bidder."

"Is this the flattery portion of your attempt to convince not to murder the Empress?" Daud asks. "I'll admit I wasn't expecting this, but you're not making a terribly compelling argument."

You grit your teeth and wonder why you did not simply kill him while he was unaware of your presence. "What do you want? Name your price and I'll pay it."

"You think an Empress' life has a price?"

"_You_ do," you snap. This was a mistake and you wish that the inevitable conclusion would hurry up and arrive so you can try the next futile change. "What do you want?" you repeat, aware that you sound desperate, that you're on the verge of begging. "Appointment to an office in the government? Legal immunity? Peerage?"

"Royal Spymaster Daud has a certain ring to it," Lurk says; Daud scoffs at the notion.

"I won't be the Empress' lapdog," he says.

"But you're fine with being Burrows'?" you demand, bristling.

Things deteriorate quite rapidly after that.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up and go slaughter the Whalers, along with any sailors unfortunate enough to get in your way. Daud himself is nowhere in evidence on the ship by the time you're through with them. Neither is Lurk.

You hurry back to the Tower, but Daud is long gone. You perch on the top of the gazebo, listening to Burrows and Campbell lie to the guards. Jessamine is dead and you weren't there to (try to) save her. Emily has been taken.

Your coat is stained with blood but this is an unimportant detail to you; the tacky dampness is familiar like the weight of a springrazor or the grip of your crossbow. You blink down and slit two of the guards' throats before the rest of them notice you. There were five guards, along with Burrows and Campbell.

You shoot another, run the fourth through, then shoot the last guard. Campbell and Burrows try to run; you can hear them shouting for the guards on the path below the gazebo.

You stop time and vault over the wall, landing lightly in front of them. You didn't bother with gloves this time, and Campbell's eyes widen when time resumes. He is transfixed by the mark on your hand, though not for the reasons you might expect.

In any case, you do not hesitate to take advantage of his distraction and kill him. Burrows pulls his pistol but you kick it aside before he can complete the motion; he cries out as his wrist breaks. You're out of bullets, so you grip the back of his head and slam it against the stone wall once-twice-three times.

He collapses, groaning, when you release him.

You can hear guards running towards you and shouting, though they must not be able to see you yet because they haven't started shooting.

"You deserve a slow, painful death," you tell Burrows, crouching. He stares at you with glassy, unfocussed eyes.

You lift him just enough and cut off his head. By the time the guards round the corner, you've blinked away, leaving nothing behind but corpses.

You spend the rest of the day interrogating various street gangs and other similarly unsavoury individuals until one of them coughs up the location of Daud's hideout, then you track him down. There are, to your surprise, a few whalers still left alive.

You do not hesitate to eliminate them.

"The bodyguard," Lurk says, disbelieving, when you stalk into Daud's office. A trail of bloody footsteps follows you, accompanied by splatters that drip irregularly from your sword and the tips of your fingers.

"Corvo!" Emily cries, struggling with renewed vigor in the corner where they have stashed her.

She looks to happy to see you; this is what sets you off-balance. It is your fault that she is here, that she had to witness her mother's murder, but she is so _pleased_ to see you in all your blood-stained glory.

Daud shoots you in the chest with his wristbow, and keeps shooting until you go down.

You die with Emily's screams in your ears.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You try to kill Daud after that, but no matter what you do you cannot reach him without at least one of the whalers alerting him of your presence. It is doubly frustrating because you managed to reach him with relative ease so many iterations ago when you tried to convince him not to kill Jessamine. Your timing is off, somehow; some misstep always gives you away and then you must begin all over again.

You memorize the paths of the whaler sentries, perfect your own sneaking abilities and finally, _finally_, you find yourself standing over Daud's body, the blood nearly invisible against his crimson coat. You have killed Daud, an assassination as fine as his own elimination of the Empress.

The remaining whalers are easy to pick off after that, their supernatural abilities lost along with their leader. They are fine fighters but you have had months to learn their fighting style and they are off-balance without their abilities.

Burrows is next; he's muttering with Campbell in his office, wondering where Daud is. They both fall to your blade. Satisfied, you go to find Jessamine.

"You smell like blood," she says when you arrive at the gazebo. You should have changed your coat, perhaps; but you are so glad to have saved her, you can spare no other thought but to see her as soon as you possibly can.

"Assassins," you say. "Burrows was planning to betray you. You're safe now."

Jessamine looks startled, but she nods. She trusts you, of course. "It's good you came back early," she says.

Belatedly, you remember the letter and hand it over. Its delivery is later than in past iterations, but Jessamine's words are nearly the same in any case. She does not comment on the blood staining one corner. You stand at her side, hands clasped behind your back (right over left) and study her profile.

The day passes in a whirlwind of activity after that. You'd found the missives from Burrows to Daud a few iterations before, and they go a long way to assuaging suspicions.

You relieve the guard at Jessamine's door sometime around midnight, unable to sleep. The guards are on high alert in any case - the deaths of the Royal Spymaster and the High Overseer have everyone on edge - but you cannot shake your (irrational, you tell yourself) feeling of unease.

Your eyes track the progression of the minute hand on the clock hanging on the wall opposite you. Eleven-fifty-seven, eleven-fifty-eight, the second hand passes twelve once more and edges closer to midnight. A guard paces past the end of the hall.

You pass out when the clock strikes twelve.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

_You will, or perhaps you did, or perhaps you won't, stand before me with blood and dirt ground into your clothes and your mask (discarded on the ground as soon as you realized where you were) and the fragile skin over your knuckles. Some of it is your own but most of it is not._

_"Why did it turn out like this," you will say, your eyes staring through me. I am, perhaps, the only one left. It is not a question; you know why. The stained blade in your right hand, the mark on your left, still visible even beneath the filth, are answer enough._

_"You regret it." It is not a question either._

_"They deserved it," you snarl, something sparking in your cold eyes. "They deserved it."_

_"But you do not deserve this?"_

_You turn away, your hands clenched into fists as you pace with precise, furious steps before me. "Could it have gone differently?"_

_"Yes." _

_Your eyelids flicker downward briefly, then you halt and _glare_. "Could I have saved her?" Your left hand drifts to your pocket, where the Heart beats steadily in counterpoint to your own._

_"That," I say, "was never a possibility."_

_"_Why_." The word is torn from your throat, ragged and bloody and raw._

_I look beyond you, sifting through outcomes and calculating probabilities. _

_You wait. You have little choice in this strange world that, as far as you are concerned, may not even exist._

_"It was a possibility," I say at length. "But a very, very slim one. Improbable. Statistically unlikely. One chance in a million; a billion. Virtually impossible."_

_"If you can see it-"_

_"-I don't interfere. I guide. I show you a way," I say. "Means to an end."_

_"You influence," you say. "The rest is just semantics."_

_"What would you have me do?"_

_"Don't you know," you say. When I do not immediately reply, you angrily (desperately) add, "I gave you a good show. The best. Everyone of note is dead and the plague will take care of the rest in the coming days."_

_"I don't know why you assume death pleases me," I say. (It does, of course, but no more so than the alternatives.)_

_"The powers you gave me-"_

_"-means to an end."_

_You are silent for a long time, then. Fury, regret, grief and much else besides bleed off you._

_"I want you to let me try again. You can do that. I can stop time with your powers; surely you can turn time back."_

_"This," I say, "is unforeseen. As is my willingness to indulge you."_

_"I'll save her," you say._

_You could not save Jessamine or Emily or even yourself, but I do not tell you that. _

_"I _will_ save her," you insist, but your mind lingers on the note I left for you the first time you visited this place._

_"Will you? I wonder."_

_The reaction this elicits from you, equal parts defiance and determination and doubt, is fascinating._

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand.

The shouts of the sailors are faintly audible; a rat squeaks in the corner of your cabin, snuffling about for crumbs. There's a bit of light coming through the tiny round window of your cabin. If you look out, you can see the outskirts of Dunwall.

You're home.

You tear your cabin apart until your throat is raw from screaming and your fingernails are torn and the skin on the back of your left hand is shredded, gouged away. The mark remains unharmed.

"You're watching, aren't you?" you say; your voice is too hoarse for anything louder. It is barely audible over the pounding at your door. The makeshift barricade you had erected continues to hold, however. "Show yourself. Why are you doing this to me? What do you _want_ from me?"

You slump against the remains of your torn mattress, despair evident in every line of your body.

The captain of the ship has a rune hidden in a secret compartment at the bottom of his chest, which is itself bolted to the floor. The rats on this ship are not particularly desperate nor numerous, but they are sufficient in this instance to gnaw through the chest and retrieve the rune.

You've fallen silent, staring blankly at the wall, when a white rat emerges from the hole in the vent cover and drops the rune in your lap.

Your face twists when you see the mark etched into bone. You snatch it up with the intention of hurling it at the wall, or perhaps tearing it to pieces with your bare hands.

"You asked me for the opportunity to save the Empress," I say. You flinch, make a low, wounded sound when your memories of that first time return to you. "In light of that interference, it is not unreasonable to make a few stipulations of my own."

Your fingers spasm around the rune, smearing blood across its surface; you do not even notice the pain. "What do you want from me?" you repeat.

"I want you to succeed, Corvo. And you did, after a fashion, this latest time; but I don't want Daud dead."

That makes you angry; furious. "_How_-"

"It is possible."

"Are there any more impossible demands you wish to make of me?" you snarl, your mouth twisted with hate and your eyes narrow with fury. _One in a million; a billion_, echoes at the back of your mind as something very much like panic begins to stir; but you ignore it. "So I can put on the best show, and leave you suitably _entertained_-"

"Jessamine and Emily must be saved; these are the conditions you imposed upon yourself. I want both you and Daud to live as well. You wish for two lives, and I ask for the same."

"How can Jessamine and Daud both live-" You grit your teeth and glare at the empty space before you as the noise of the ship filters back in. The sailors are still trying to break the door down; your barricade creaks, shudders, on the verge of giving way.

You take out your pistol, raise it to your temple, and pull the trigger.

(YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER)

You wake up on a ship with bad news burning a hole in your left breast pocket (over your steadily beating heart) and a damning brand burned into the back of your left hand.

The shouts of the sailors are faintly audible; a rat squeaks in the corner of your cabin, snuffling about for crumbs. There's a bit of light coming through the tiny round window of your cabin. If you look out, you can see the outskirts of Dunwall.

You're home.


End file.
